Grave Vengeance

by Lori Sjoberg

  “Your turn at watch,” he murmured, his breath fanning across her forehead. The heat of his body warmed her like a furnace, his muscled arms around her so very comforting.

  “Hmm. Five more minutes.”

  When she turned and buried her face against his chest, he shook her shoulder again. “Time to wake up, Gwenya. If I let you sleep, you’ll give me a rash of shit about it in the morning.”

  She yawned, stretched, as the haze of sleep evaporated. Gradually, her senses sharpened, her ears alert to the sounds of the night. A rustling in the trees drew her attention, and in the dim moonlight she saw the faint outline of a raccoon skittering across the branches. “What time is it?”

  “A few minutes before three.”

  Eyes narrowed, she craned her neck to see his face. “You promised to wake me at two.”

  “I must have lost track of time.”

  What a load. The man never missed a thing. Too tired to argue, she let the matter slide. “Okay, I’m awake.”

  With a yawn, he leaned his head back against the tree and closed his eyes. “Get me up at five.”

  “You got it.”

  She let him sleep until six. He scowled the instant he checked his watch but was wise enough not to complain.

  The pale light of dawn turned the sky steel blue while they gathered their belongings and walked east. The ground was damp with morning dew, and the air was cool, crisp, and full of the scent of tree sap. After an hour of hiking, Gwen dug into her bag and handed Dmitri one of her granola bars. He accepted it with a nod and devoured it in a matter of seconds.

  “Does your phone have reception?” he asked.

  She switched it on. The low battery warning flashed on the screen. No signal. “Uh-uh.”

  “Me neither.” Which meant they were still on their own.

  In silence, they continued through the wilderness. Gwen stayed a few steps behind Dmitri, her short legs struggling to keep up with his long strides as he cut a path through the dense underbrush.

  About two hours later, they emerged from the forest and entered a grassy meadow. The view ahead made her mouth drop open and her bag hit the ground where she stood.

  “What is it?” With one hand wrapped around his Glock, he scanned the scenery for signs of danger.

  “Food!” A small cluster of apple trees stood at the far edge of the meadow. From the distance, she could see fruit on the branches, and the sight of them made her mouth water.

  Breaking into a run, she covered the distance in under a minute. She stopped beneath the nearest tree and peered up at the branches. There weren’t many apples left this late in the season, but there were enough to keep them going for a while. Stomach growling, she stood on her tiptoes and stretched as far as she could, but the fruit hung beyond her reach. She jumped. Jumped again. No luck.

  “The deer must have eaten all the low-hanging fruit,” Dmitri said once he caught up to her. His weapons bag was slung over one shoulder while he carried her duffel in his left hand.

  He was right. The lower branches were all picked clean, leaving the remaining apples outside her reach.

  “Give me a boost.”

  Dmitri arched a brow. “Are you kidding?”

  “Do I look like I’m kidding?”

  “At the moment, you look like a lunatic.”

  “A starving lunatic. Now shut up and give me a boost.”

  With a pained look, he dropped her bag and walked toward her. His large hands gripped her around the waist and lifted her in the air like she weighed nothing.

  “Perfect!” Greedily, she picked with wild abandon, until she’d harvested everything within reach. “Move a little to the left, so I can grab some more.”

  “You’ve already picked at least two dozen.”

  “Yeah, but there’s no way of knowing when we’ll run into food again.”

  With a sigh, he stepped to the left, and she grabbed another dozen and dropped them to the ground. Satisfied, she rested her hands on top of his broad shoulders.

  “Okay, you can let me down now.”

  Slowly, deliberately, he lowered her to the ground, and her chest brushed against his. Prickles of electricity tightened her skin while awareness flared low in her belly. She caught his gaze for a second or two, and in that time she forgot how to breathe.

  That couldn’t possibly be heat in his eyes.

  No way.

  Could it?

  No. She must be getting cabin fever. Or Stockholm syndrome. Or whatever they called it when you were stuck alone with someone for a prolonged period of time and suddenly felt the wild urge to jump their bones.

  “What are you going to do with all those?” he asked, interrupting her trip down Insanity Lane.

  Do what with what? Oh yeah, that’s right, the apples. “Eat them, what else?”

  He gave her a blank stare. “That’s a lot of fruit, Gwenya.”

  “I know. We’ll have some for lunch, and I’ll put the rest in my bag.” She tossed him an apple and he caught it one-handed. “If we don’t find any more food, at least we’ll have something to keep us going for a while.”

  “I could always kill something for us to eat,” he offered. “It wouldn’t take much to tag a deer. Their tracks are all over the place.”

  “And do what, eat it raw? You already said we couldn’t risk a fire.”

  “True, but I don’t want to eat apples until I sprout leaves.” He shifted the weapons bag to his other shoulder. “That bag already weighs a ton. What do you have in there anyway?”

  “Stuff.” Change of clothes. Handcuffs. Shampoo. Ammunition. Dental floss. A few knives. Toothbrush. Lock picks. And a few other things a girl might need while working a difficult assignment.

  Dmitri arched a brow. “What kind of stuff?”

  “Personal stuff.”

  “Explosives and Spam?”

  “Among other things.” Her chin jutted up. “What’s in my bag is my business.”

  The corners of his mouth twitched. “Is there something in there you don’t want me to see?”

  Yes, but she’d never admit to it. “Of course not.”

  “You’re lying.” He studied her like a pinned insect. “What’s in there? Frilly underwear?”

  “Of course there’s underwear, but nothing frilly.” For the trip, she’d packed several pairs of cotton panties. If she’d known she was going to be gone for this long, she would have packed a few extra. “Why, you want to see them?”

  His voice pitched low. “Is that an offer?”

  She rolled her eyes. Turning her back to him, she unzipped her bag and began packing it full of fruit.

  Dmitri crouched down beside her. “I’ll help.”

  “No, thanks.”

  His mouth seemed on the verge of smiling. “There is something in there you don’t want me to see. What is it, Gwenya?”

  She ignored him.

  “Condoms?”

  “Why would I pack condoms?” Reapers were immune to disease, and pregnancy was impossible.

  “Good point.” He watched her while she stuffed the last of the apples inside the bag and tugged the zipper closed. “Lube.”

  “If you’re referring to gun oil, the answer is yes.” She also kept a travel-size bottle of personal lubricant in the bag, but he didn’t need to know that. With a grunt, she picked up the duffel. He was right. It weighed a ton.

  “Vibrator.”

  Bingo. The pocket rocket was tucked in one of the side compartments. “You’re grasping.”

  “I don’t think so.” A knowing grin spread across his mouth. “What color is it?”

  Gwen huffed out a breath. “Oh, for Christ’s sake, why are you so fascinated with my sex life?”

  “Why are you so embarrassed?”

  “I’m not embarrassed.” Yes, she was. Why, she had no idea. “My vibrator is none of your business.” Shit, she’d just admitted to the vibrator.

  Dmitri’s grin widened to a smile. “I’m surprised you’d need one.”

/>   “What does need have to do with it?” Talking sex toys with Dmitri was way too weird for words. She threw her hands up in frustration. “You’re putting way too much thought into this.”

  “Just making conversation. I didn’t think you’d have such a hard time finding someone to fuck.”

  The look she gave him could have curdled milk. “Did it ever occur to you that I might be selective?” Being a reaper was hell on a woman’s social life. It was hard when everyone aged but you. Made things … complicated. She wasn’t much for one-night stands, and it was damn near impossible to have a long-term relationship with a mortal. That left other reapers as potential partners, and there were only so many to choose from. A lot of times, it was just as easy to pour a glass of wine, draw a warm bubble bath, and kick back with her battery-operated boyfriend.

  Clearly enjoying her discomfort, Dmitri rocked back on his heels. “I never really thought about it until now.”

  With a grunt, she hoisted the bag over her shoulder, and the strap dug into her skin. “Given our situation, we have far more important things to worry about.” Like finding a way out of this mess. And the weather. Temperatures hadn’t risen at all that morning, probably due to the overcast skies. It wouldn’t be so bad if she’d packed something more suitable, but all she had were Tshirts and jeans. “Think it’s going to snow?”

  Dmitri craned his head toward the sky. “Not yet, but soon.” That was what she was afraid of. A gust of wind whistled through the trees and blew right through her. She rubbed her arms against the cold, but it didn’t do any good.

  “In that case, we better—what is it?” She went on alert when his posture stiffened and his eyes took on a predatory gleam.

  “We’re not alone.”

  Chapter 12

  Gwen’s eyes widened with alarm. To her credit, she made no sudden movements that would have shown her awareness to anyone watching. “What? Where?”

  “Two reapers. Far end of the field.” Dammit, he should have noticed them sooner, but too much talk about sex toys had hijacked his brain and distracted him from the job. Biting back a curse, he silently vowed to never let it happen again.

  “Shit. Which ones?”

  “Man and a woman. I don’t know their names, but they were riding with Pierce.” With a casual shrug, Dmitri slipped the shotgun strap off his shoulder and unzipped his nylon bag. He reached in, retrieved his rifle, and fastened a silencer to the end of the barrel.

  “Do you see Pierce?” she asked, her voice a note in the wind.

  “No. They probably split up to cover more ground.”

  She fell quiet for a few seconds. “How do you want to play this?”

  “Keep talking like nothing’s wrong while I draw a bead on these two.” He inched a little to the left, using a low-hanging branch to conceal his movements.

  Gwen spared a quick glance over her shoulder. “I can barely make them out. You sure you can tag them from this far?”

  His hackles rose at her doubt in his abilities. “Of course. I shot Anton Belgorod with a high-powered rifle from over five hundred meters away. This will not pose a problem.”

  Gwen’s jaw went slack with surprise. “Wait, that was you?”

  “You didn’t know?”

  She shook her head. “The Bureau suspected your involvement, but we never found any credible evidence.”

  A smile tugged at his lips. Killing Anton before he divulged top-secret information had been one of his most challenging missions. After his defection, the Americans had kept Anton under heavy guard, forcing Dmitri to rely on his abilities as a sniper. He’d nailed the bastard en route to debriefing in fading light and a heavy crosswind. And even after all these years, it felt good to know he’d completed his assignment without compromising his cover.

  “That was one hell of a shot,” she said, appreciation warming her voice.

  “Thank you.” He was talking to her, but his gaze never strayed from his targets. The two reapers were approaching from the western side of the field, using the dense vegetation at the edge of the woods to conceal their presence. “I had lots of practice. I was twelve when I dropped my first target.”

  “So young?”

  “We were at war. After the Germans invaded, my father enlisted and got shot on the front line. My mother died two months later when the Luftwaffe bombed the factory she worked in.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Nothing for you to be sorry about. It happened so long ago I barely remember what they looked like.” That bothered him, but not as much as it used to. He had his father’s nose and his mother’s eyes, so in a way he would never totally forget them. “With them gone, my sisters and I were left with my grandparents in Stalingrad.”

  “What year was this?”

  “1942.”

  She sucked in an audible breath. “Oh, no.”

  His gaze darted in her direction for a second before returning to his targets. “You’re familiar with the battle?” That surprised him. Most American news reports focused on the western front and glossed over the war’s impact on the Soviet Union. World War II had laid waste to his country, wiping cities off the map and killing over twenty-five million soldiers and civilians.

  “Not as much as I’d like,” she replied. “Did you live there during the Battle of Stalingrad?”

  He nodded. “If you want to call that living. The bombings reduced the city to rubble. Our soldiers fought until they ran out of ammo, and then they fought with sticks and rocks.”

  That he remembered vividly. The chaos. The destruction. The smells of gunpowder and human decay. What the Luftwaffe didn’t bomb from the air, the Panzer tanks pummeled on the ground. At one point, the Germans controlled almost ninety percent of the city. If not for reinforcements pouring in from across the Volga, the entire city would have been lost to Hitler. For over five months, bitter clashes raged at every street, factory, house, and basement.

  “How did your family survive?” she asked.

  “They didn’t. My grandparents and one of my sisters were home when our building was destroyed.”

  Her hazel eyes softened with sympathy. “And the others?”

  “My older sister got shot by the Germans.” Dirty, starving, and desperate, they’d left the basement they were hiding in and split up to forage for food. It was the last time he saw her alive. “I found her body in the street.”

  The memory stabbed at his heart, and he brutally shoved it aside. Why was he telling her all this? The answer eluded him. He kept talking while he raised the rifle to his head and pressed his cheek firmly against the stock. Peering through the scope, he zeroed in on the male reaper. “That day, I took a rifle from the body of a Soviet soldier and used it to kill two Germans taking a smoke break by the grain elevator.”

  “What were their names?”

  “Who, the soldiers?”

  “No, your sisters.”

  “Oh.” After a moment’s pause, he forced out their names. “Maya. And Axinya.” Seven and fifteen. Children so young should never be forced to confront the horrors of war.

  “I’m sorry you lost them,” Gwen said, the sincerity thick in her voice. “I’m sorry you lost them all.”

  He didn’t know what else to say, so he murmured a simple “Thank you.”

  After an exhale Dmitri squeezed the trigger, and the silencer muffled the sound from a bang to a crack. Before the first reaper dropped to the ground, Dmitri fired again and nailed his companion.

  “Nice shooting.”

  “Thank you.” After unfastening the scope, he put the rifle back in the bag and slung the shotgun over his shoulder. “Got any rope in your duffel?”

  “No, but I have some twine. Why?”

  “I want to make sure these assholes aren’t going anywhere after they heal.” He started walking, and she hurried to stay at his side.

  “So how did you manage to survive Stalingrad?” she asked as they skirted the edge of the field.

  “I joined the Red Army.”


  She gave him a confused look. “But you were only twelve.”

  “So? I was big for my age, and we were at war. Anyone strong enough to carry a rifle was armed and given orders to defend the city or die trying. If you couldn’t shoot, you dug trenches.”

  “What if you couldn’t dig trenches?”

  “You received no rations, and you starved.”

  Gwen let out a low whistle. “Talk about motivation.”

  “I was more motivated by the opportunity to kill Germans. By October, I got so good at it they made me a sniper.” From there, he steadily moved up the ranks and was eventually recruited by the agency that later became the KGB. They sharpened his skills, taught him English, trained him how to kill in every manner conceivable, and then sent him to the United States to further the Soviet agenda.

  It was in America where he’d met Elena. She’d been so sweet, so beautiful, he hadn’t minded being paired with a total stranger. Their entire courtship and marriage was carefully choreographed by their Soviet handlers. Posing as Americans and living in the suburbs of Maryland, they’d blended in with middle-class society, an enemy hiding in plain sight. But what started as an assignment changed when his feelings for Elena deepened. He cared for her, grew to love her. At the time, he thought she felt the same way.

  He’d been wrong.

  Brushing the painful betrayal from his mind, he stalked toward the fallen reapers. They lay in a heap at the edge of the brush, a bloom of red marking their chests. In spite of their wounds, their life forces never wavered, a testament to their immortality. The bigger one groaned when Dmitri roughly rolled him from his side to his back. A pat-down search of his clothes yielded a .22 pistol and a two-way radio.

  Gwen gasped when she got close to the fallen reapers. “Prescott?”

  “You know him?”

  She nodded, her face going pale. “We worked together for a few years in Chicago. I thought we were friends.”

  “You thought Ziegler was your friend also. That speaks volumes about your judgment in character.” Okay, that came out harsh, but he wasn’t in the mood to coddle. And with at least two more reapers on their trail, they didn’t have time to screw around. “How good are you at tying knots?”